5 Rounds: An Enemies to Lovers Sports Romance (The Fight Game Book 1)
5 Rounds: Chapter 11

I wake up to sunshine and the sound of the city. The feel of a no-alarm Sunday morning in a city I love is enough to let me ignore the alcohol-induced headache that’s currently tickling my subconscious. I snuggle back into Jax’s pillows with a small smile.

But then the memory of last night comes back in full force, and my subtle headache becomes a very large, very obnoxious one.

Fuck. I had sex with Tristan last night.

I groan and duck my head under the pillow. What the fuck was I thinking?!

The answer is that I wasn’t. The answer is that I let my lust-fueled brain finally act on my attraction to him. And now he’ll never let me hear the end of it.

I cringe when I think about the fact that I just became another one of Tristan’s conquests. All the shit I talked on the women that have fallen into bed with him, and now I’m one of them. Seduced by his arrogance and that goddamn smirk.

Another groan falls from my lips. Not only do I have to deal with his smugness probably showing tenfold now, but I also have another week with him here. Alone. With the memory of being bent over that couch floating through my brain every time I walk downstairs.

Fuck. This is so bad.

Not to mention, what will Jax say? Do I even tell him? Will Tristan tell him?

I frown, assuming the answer to that last question is probably a no. I doubt Tristan has a death wish, since telling Jax that he fucked his basically-sister is a good way to get a beating. But the only way he won’t figure it out is if nothing changes between Tristan and me.

I sigh, knowing that’s probably the best way to deal with this entire situation. It’s not like it’ll ever happen again. Partly because Tristan is a once and done kind of guy, but also because God knows I never need to let that happen again. So the best thing to do is to just act like it never did.

I sit up in bed, mentally steeling myself. I can do this. I can treat Tristan the same way I always have. I just need to glare at him and yell a few insults. Easy. Maybe after ignoring him for a few days, I’ll be able to get the image of him pulling a screaming orgasm from me with his fingers out of my head. He practically lives at the gym anyway; it shouldn’t be too hard to avoid him for a few days. And if I do see him, I’m just going to act like nothing ever happened. No problem.

And I’m just going to ignore the fact that it was the best goddamn sex of my life.

I groan and fall face first back into the pillows.

I manage to avoid him for almost two days. Miraculously, he’s already left the gym when I show up on Monday night, so I fully expect him to be passed out by the time I get home. I even linger with Lucy in the parking lot after class to make sure I get home as late as possible.

Instead, I open the front door to see him sitting at the kitchen island. I freeze.

‘Hey,’ I force out.

Fuck. I really did not want to have this conversation now.

He looks up from his phone with a lazy smirk. ‘Hey,’ he says.

‘I thought you’d be asleep already,’ I stammer awkwardly as I force myself to walk into the kitchen to make my dinner.

The grin on his face grows. Of course he can tell I’m flustered. ‘Hoping to avoid me another night?’

I glare at him and start digging through the cabinets. What’s the quickest protein-dense meal I can make in about ninety seconds? I need out of this room.

I spot the peanut butter and decide this is going to be a PB&J night. Good enough.

‘So how long are you planning on ignoring me? Forever, or just until Jax gets home?’ he asks, returning his attention to his dinner but keeping that stupid grin plastered on his face.

‘I’m not ignoring you,’ I snap. ‘But what we, um… did the other night…’ Fuck, I’m stuttering. ‘It doesn’t mean I like you all of a sudden. I don’t want to hang out with you now.’ I fumble with the peanut butter jar, trying to rush out of here as quickly as possible.

‘Remy, we fucked,’ he says bluntly. ‘You can admit you liked it. We both know the truth, anyway. You can even admit you’re a little obsessed with me now.’ If he grins any harder, I think his face might split in half.

‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ I snarl. I turn my attention to spreading the jelly on the piece of bread in front of me. ‘I was drunk, and horny. You could’ve been any guy.’ I stop, the anger causing my nerves to dissipate and making me feel more in control. I glance at Tristan. ‘To be honest, the whole night was pretty mediocre. Not quite obsession-worthy.’

I’m lying through my teeth, but there isn’t a chance in hell I’m going to admit that to him. He doesn’t need to know that I haven’t stopped thinking about that night. That I’ve touched myself three times since then to the thought of him fucking me. That I caught myself touching my lips a few times, remembering how electric his lips had felt against mine.

No, he doesn’t need to know that. He can go on thinking I was unimpressed, that our relationship is the same angry, insult-fueled one that it always has been.

‘You’re a liar,’ he whispers in my ear. I yelp. I didn’t even notice him come around the island.

His hands grip the counter on either side of my arms, effectively caging me in. He’s not touching me, but he might as well be—I’m aware of every inch of his body that’s close to mine. The fire between us pulses and I shiver as I feel his breath on my exposed neck.

‘You can try to lie to yourself but we both know that night was hot as fuck,’ he breathes against my skin. ‘I still remember how wet and tight you felt when I bent you over the couch. My dick’s getting hard just thinking about it.’

I bite my lip to keep a moan from slipping out. I squeeze my legs together and try to ignore the heat growing between them. How is it possible for someone to make my knees weak with just his dirty words?

With his finger he scoops a bit of jelly out of the jar in front of me. Before I realize what he’s doing, he spreads it on my lower lip, letting his touch linger for just a moment.

My tongue automatically darts out to lick it off. He growls at the sight. ‘I can’t wait to have that mouth on me again,’ he mutters darkly.

I turn in his grip to face him, fury burning in my eyes. ‘Fuck you,’ I snarl angrily. ‘I am not one of your brainless fucktoys. Just because I drunkenly fucked you one night does not mean you can now have me in your bed whenever you want. I still hate you just as much as I did last week—probably more. So, if you think I’ll ever let you in my pants again, you are out of your goddamn mind. One mistake was enough.’

To my complete chagrin, his smile grows. He leans forward, lips almost touching mine. But I won’t give him the satisfaction of backing away.

‘We’ll see,’ he whispers, just before his tongue slides across my lips and licks the remaining jelly off. With his smirk still fully in place, he turns and walks upstairs.

I’m still fuming about the run-in with Tristan when I wake up the next morning. I frown and curse my way through the morning, unable to stop his cocky words from replaying in my mind as I get ready for work.

So much for acting like nothing happened.

I should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to let it go. He’s too arrogant for his own good, and as much as I want to pretend our sex wasn’t hot as fuck, there’s no denying for either of us that it was.

I wonder briefly if the sex is that good with every girl he sleeps with. Does he give all of them the best sex of their lives? Was Saturday even good for him?

I scowl at the direction of my thoughts and go back to styling my hair. Thinking of how I compare to the many women that have been in Tristan’s bed is definitely not a productive use of brain power. Plus, it’s sex—guys love sex regardless. And it was obviously good enough for him to think about during the following days, or he wouldn’t have admitted to it. Well, that and the fact that he can’t wait to do it again.

Which will definitely not be happening.

Nothing good can come of us having sex again—no matter how mind-bendingly good it was. My Sunday morning thoughts were only solidified by our encounter last night. Plus, watching him pine for something might actually be fun. If I can limit our interactions at the house and stay more than five feet away from him at all times, then I should be able to withstand his stupid fuck-me presence.

With that firm conviction ringing in my mind, I finish my morning routine and head to work, determined to put Tristan out of my mind and focus all my energy on the job that I’m lucky to have.

By the time lunch rolls around, I don’t feel quite so lucky.

It’s not often that I have days where I hate my job, but today is one of them. Most days I can coast by with minimal bad interactions, headphones in and typing away at whatever it is I need to research or write.

But today, it seems like someone has spiked the coffee with asshole juice. Everyone is ornery. I overhear more than one snappy exchange in the cubicles around me, as well as heated conversations loud enough to be heard through the conference room walls. It’s not long before I’m on the receiving end of some of it myself.

Paul, the engineer that loves to not-so-subtly check out my legs, appears at my cubicle before I’ve even finished my first cup of coffee to grumble about some edits I made to his datasheet. Not long after he’s gone, Cassandra appears in a whirlwind of high heels and too-strong perfume, demanding to know why her sales playbook isn’t done yet.

I politely remind her that she only gave it to me on Friday, and that it’s a twenty-two-page document that needs some serious touch-ups. Hardly a two-day turnaround time.

She glares at me before exiting with a huff.

I sigh and lean forward to hold my head in my hands, gently rubbing my temples. I can already feel the headache building.

‘Long day?’ I hear from beside me. I turn to see my coworker from the cubicle next to me peeking around our wall. A hint of a smile is tugging at the corner of his lips.

‘Something like that,’ I mutter as I lean back in my chair. I stare up at the ceiling for a moment, debating asking my next question.

‘What did you want to be when you were a kid?’ I finally ask.

I can practically sense his wide-eyed surprise. My question is not one that’s ever been included in typical workplace small talk.

‘Umm, I think a fireman.’

‘And when you were in high school, getting ready to go to college?’

He frowns in concentration. He thinks about the question for a few seconds before answering honestly, ‘I wanted to create a non-profit for kids with trauma that need emotional support animals.’

My eyes widen as I turn my attention fully to him. ‘Really?’

He swallows and nods, but doesn’t go into more detail.

‘Did you ever go into it? Or do you still want to?’

He nods again. ‘I obviously didn’t have the means to do anything about it when I was in high school, so the plan was to go to college for business and then maybe figure something out. Then a job fell in my lap that I couldn’t pass up and it just spiraled from there. I’ve been in tech ever since.’ He sighs and turns to stare off at some unseen target. ‘I always say I’ll do it at some point. It’s just… this job is too good and too hard to walk away from, you know?’

I wince but nod in agreement. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean. I think about the same thing sometimes.’ Then, in an effort to lighten the suddenly tense mood, I say, ‘Then again, some days Cassandra makes the idea incredibly appealing.’

He lets out a relieved laugh. ‘Very true.’

I grin at the only coworker that I don’t hate. But before turning back to my computer, I pause, wanting to admit one last truth before we’re shoved back into the daily grind of Corporate America.

‘I hope you do it one day,’ I tell him honestly.

The smile slides off his face and the more serious expression returns. He swallows nervously but nods. ‘Me too,’ he says quietly.

The rest of my workday is fairly uneventful. The coffee continues to stay spiked and the people in the office continue to be on edge, but after Cassandra, the attitude seems to stay away from my cubicle, at least. I force myself to work through another two projects before deciding to actually stop working when I’m supposed to. At 5:00, I head down to the gym in the basement.

I end up running five miles, my conversation with my coworker running on repeat in my head. I rarely meet anyone in the workplace that regrets taking their job or that wants to be doing something else. Or maybe people are just better at hiding it than I realize, since I had no idea he felt that way. But most people seem to be enamored with the money and comfort of working a well-paying 9-5 where, for the most part, they can just coast through their work. Most of my coworkers will admit that they’re not enamored with their jobs, but that they use the time and money gained from it to follow their real happiness outside of work. That’s how people end up settling for this kind of job for the length of their entire career.

I never thought I’d fall into that same category. I even got a tattoo on the day I graduated college that was meant to signify that although I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life, I vowed that I would never settle and would replace something that makes me happy and makes a difference. Settling was—and still is—my biggest fear, and I never meant to stay with something just because it’s comfortable and easy.

Yet here I am, three years after that tattoo was inked into my skin, doing exactly what I vowed not to do.

I know I don’t want to stay in this job, or in this industry. Not only am I not happy, but often I’m actually very unhappy. I don’t want to live like that.

But the idea of quitting without a backup plan, without knowing what I would do otherwise, is fucking terrifying. If nothing else, it would be hard to come by a job that pays as much as my current one does. And since I’m used to a certain level of comfort in my life—including rent that’s not cheap—I can’t exactly just leave my job.

I need… something before I can leave.

That frustrating conclusion has me itching for a drink by the time I’ve showered and left the building. When I see the lights of my favorite hole in the wall bar flashing at me down the street, an idea takes root in my head.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, I start to walk toward Andy’s Dive Bar. It’s one of the older bars in the city, and very out of place among the other up and coming bars surrounding it in the Business District. But somehow over the years Andy has managed to keep his bar the same dive that it’s always been, never conforming to the pressure that’s surrounded it.

It’s also not a place I’d ever see any of my coworkers. It’s too rundown for that. Not a lot of people know about Andy’s Dive, which makes it the perfect place for what I suddenly feel like doing.

For the first time in years.

I order my favorite IPA before settling in at the table at the very back corner of the bar. Since it’s a Tuesday night there are not a lot of patrons in the bar, just the usual couple of drunks sitting at the counter. I open my laptop with a deep breath.

Without letting myself think too hard about what I’m doing or why, I start writing. I write random ideas, scenes, plots, anything I can think of. It’s a mess of words on my screen, but it’s more than I’ve done in years. Typically, when I sit down to write, I get stuck because I start to think too hard. But tonight, with a few beers and the determination to avoid a life of regret, I let the words flow.

I sit there for hours. I barely take my eyes off the computer, doing so only to gesture for another drink every once in a while.

It’s the freest I’ve felt in a long time.

For once, I’m not tense. I’m not stressed about work, or meeting deadlines, or feeling frustrated about having to do work that’s not mine to do.

I’m not stressed about what I’m writing or whether or not it’ll be a massive failure. I’m just… letting my brain take my fingers where it wants.

All of a sudden, I notice the bar has emptied out and the bartender is giving me dirty looks. I realize with a start that it’s almost 11:00 and they’re starting to close up.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ I call out. I start to pack up my computer. ‘I’m leaving, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how late it was. Can I close out my tab?’

The older lady behind the bar gives me an angry glare before walking over to the register to ring me up. I pay my tab quickly and walk out of the bar.

It isn’t until I’m getting out of the Uber a few minutes later that I suddenly remember that I’m walking into a house with a certain roommate.

‘Fuck,’ I mutter under my breath. Wrapped up all my happy feelings, I completely forgot about everything with Tristan.

I take a deep breath to remind myself that I need to ignore him, that I need to keep my physical distance and act like I’m not borderline-obsessed with his glorious dick.

Just… stay away from him, I remind myself. Hopefully he’s already asleep and I don’t even need to deal with him right now.

But when I walk into the house, I replace Tristan sprawled on the couch, flipping through channels with a bored look on his face. His eyes light with a mischievous twinkle when he sees me.

‘Remy baby,’ he teases. ‘Where have you been? Curfew is 11:00.’

I roll my eyes at him as I shrug my jacket off. ‘None of your business,’ I retort.

‘Busy night at the library?’ he guesses sarcastically. ‘Or maybe another Humphrey Bogart marathon at the local theater? My ears still hurt from listening to you yap about the last one.”

I shoot him a withering glare. “Humphrey Bogart is an icon. I’m going to do you a favor and pretend you didn’t say that, or else I might have to take scissors to all your hand wraps again. Do you remember the Jane Austen incident?”

I think I see him swallow roughly before saying, “Don’t remind me. I had to use Jax’s smelly wraps for a week because of it.”

A self-satisfied grin stretches across my face at the memory. “Serves you right for insulting the mother of all romance by implying her literature is irrelevant,” I chuckle as I hang my jacket on the coat rack.

“That still doesn’t explain where you were tonight,” he pushes again. “You’re supposed to be at the gym on Tuesdays. Naughty.”

I roll my eyes at his overbearing attitude. I’m sure he’s assuming that I was trying to avoid him, and he’s trying to call me out on it.

‘Maybe I was getting dicked down,’ I mutter.

I manage to catch his horrified look for a split second before he covers it up. I hadn’t meant for that to slip out, but his reaction was more than worth it. I grin and turn toward him with my hands on my hips, waiting patiently to see what he’s going to respond with.

His face hardens but he still looks at me skeptically. ‘Not a chance,’ he decides. ‘Or if that’s true, the poor sap did a piss poor job.’

I scowl and drop my hands to my sides. ‘How on earth would you be able to tell that?’

There is nothing sarcastic about his tone as he answers. ‘Because if you had been pleasured right, you’d have sexy, freshly fucked hair and the most incredible pink, flushed skin. Not to mention, a sated smile.’

My breath hitches. Suddenly, I’m flooded with memories of desperate hands and hungry moans and wet kisses. I squeeze my legs together to try to tamp down on the ache that’s already started to build between them, but it doesn’t help—I can’t stop thinking about the last time I had freshly fucked hair and pink skin. And more importantly, about the person that made me that way.

‘That’s ridiculous,’ I choke out. ‘Sex doesn’t always have to be like that. Plus, that’s cheesy as shit, you sound like you’re trying to quote a movie.’ I head toward the kitchen, wanting to get away from this conversation and those memories.

But I don’t get far because he blocks my path, leaving only inches between us. I glare up at him.

‘That’s what you looked like the other night,’ he murmurs in a gravelly voice. A current of electricity shoots through me at the sound.

‘Do you remember?’ he says in that same quiet, deep voice. His expression is smug, but there’s also a fire burning in his eyes. He twirls a strand of my hair between his fingers as he studies my face. ‘Do you remember when I ran my fingers through your hair? When I pulled it? Or when you came so hard that your skin got hot? Because I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.’

My breath catches at his admission. He’s been thinking about me?

His eyes bore deep into mine. I can see the heat behind them, and I can’t seem to tear myself away. I’m frozen in place, even as I see his face dip down.

He’s smiling as he brushes his lips over my cheek. He’s barely touching me—and it’s infuriating. He continues down my chin, along my neck, until he reaches my ear. I feel his tongue dart out against my earlobe right before he nips it lightly.

I can’t stop a hiss from leaving my lips. I was so dead set on never letting him get close to me again but now that he’s this close, it feels like I’ve been drugged by his aura. Like the second I get too close to him, I’m enveloped in a strange trance that I can’t break away from. I can’t speak or move; all I can do is try not to hyperventilate.

‘Remy…’ he purrs, right before his lips touch mine.

I can’t help my lips opening for him any more than I can stop my heart from beating. With a groan, he slips his tongue inside, and I shiver as it slides across my own. I wrap my arms around his neck and lean further into the kiss.

With a growl, he grips my ass and lifts me up. He spins and walks us to the kitchen island, then sets me on the edge. He pushes my thighs apart and slips in to stand between my legs. I whimper at the feel of his very big—very hard—length. I pull him closer so I can grind against him.

He groans and digs his fingers harder into my hips. In the back of my mind, I realize I’m most likely going to bruise—and with my next thought I realize that I don’t care. In fact, I wish he would mark me in a better spot.

Without thinking about what I’m doing, I grab one of his hands and guide his fingers to wrap around my throat.

His eyes widen—and then darken with lust. The heat in his eyes blazes, just like it had the last time he wanted to fuck me into the nearest surface.

‘Filthy fucking girl,’ he growls, squeezing the sides of my neck. I can’t help the moan that slips from my lips any more than I can help the wetness that I now feel between my legs. He kisses along my jaw, nipping and sucking. ‘I should’ve known you like it rough. Do you like it when I manhandle you? If I reached into your panties right now, would you be drenched?’

‘God, yes,’ I moan, unashamed. I don’t care about how it makes me look, or what we’re even doing right now, all I can think about is how badly I want him to throw me around and fuck me seven which ways. I need his talented cock to douse this fire that feels like it’s burning up every inch of my skin.

He reaches down to fumble with the buttons on my dress pants. When he finally gets them open, he squeezes my neck one final time before letting go to tug my pants down my legs. He leaves me in my thong, running a thoughtful glance along my body before stepping close again and ripping my blouse open. I gasp as my buttons fly everywhere.

And then I’m sitting in front of Tristan, exposed in my racy red lingerie set.

‘Jesus,’ he gasps, gawking at my outfit. ‘You’re like a sexy secretary fantasy come to life.’ He runs another hungry glance over my lacey bra and panties, then reaches forward to grab my hair so he can yank my mouth back to his. ‘I’ve always wondered what you were hiding under your work clothes.’

My head drops back with a groan at yet another admission that he’s thought about me. A surge of confidence runs through me at the thought that he’s not as unaffected by me as I always assumed he was. He nips my lower lip before moving to my jaw, then down my neck. I gasp when I feel his fingers graze my pussy through my thong.

He groans when he feels how wet I am. Using only his pinky, he nudges the fabric aside, then slides along the length of my slit. He circles my clit tantalizingly.

He licks up the length of my neck, all the way over my chin and finally sliding his tongue directly into my mouth. I shiver in anticipation of feeling his tongue between my legs.

‘I can’t wait to taste your sweet cunt again,’ he growls against my lips. ‘Lie down.’

I do as I’m told. I’m thankful he kept my blouse on because the granite counter is cold against my skin, and I’m glad my back isn’t touching the surface right now. I try to focus on the feel of the cold counter under my ass and how it feels compared to my achingly heated core that’s begging to be touched. I squirm impatiently when a few seconds pass and he still hasn’t touched me.

He’s standing between my legs, looking down at my body like a starved man about to devour his first meal. After what feels like an eternity, he reaches forward to touch my face. His thumb caresses my cheek before sliding across my lips—and pausing. The inferno continues to rage in his eyes as he stares at my mouth. I curl my tongue around his thumb and suck it into my mouth, my eyes never leaving his.

The motion seems to break the spell that he’s under because he immediately growls and pulls his hand back. But instead of letting go of me completely, his finger continues its trail down. He runs it along the curve of my neck, between my breasts, then circles around my navel. He finally pauses when he reaches the lace of my thong. He glances at me once more before his face suddenly disappears from my view.

I gasp and arch my back when I feel his lips running over the fabric between my legs—he’s not even touching my skin yet and I’m already ready to come out of mine. I feel his finger circle over my entrance, teasing what’s to come. And just as I’m about to beg that he rip the rest of my clothes off and put me out of my misery, he yanks my thong off and hooks my legs over his shoulders before burying his face in my weeping cunt.

I moan at the feel of his hard grip on my thighs pulling me further into his tongue’s assault. He circles my clit, occasionally pausing to suck on the small nub, before licking between my lips and thrusting inside my pussy. I whimper and tangle my fingers in his hair as he fucks me with his tongue.

Just when I’m about to explode in his mouth, he pulls away from me and stands up. I cry out at the loss and try to reach for him.

But he pushes me roughly back on the counter. With a mischievous smile, he slips first one, then two of his fingers in his mouth. And then, without breaking eye contact, he slides them inside me.

My eyes flutter closed with a moan, overwhelmed with the feeling of his fingers fucking me. His hands are big, his fingers long, and yet it feels like a tease—I need his hard length inside me in order to feel truly satiated.

He pulls his fingers out. But before I can voice my displeasure again, I feel his index finger pressing against my asshole.

I gasp as my eyes pop open. He hasn’t taken his eyes off my face, and he’s still wearing that mischievous smile. He gently starts to work his finger into my ass.

It doesn’t take me long to relax and start wriggling down the counter, silently begging for him to fill more of me. The grin on his face grows.

‘I fucking knew it,’ he growls. ‘I knew when you moaned at my thumb on you the other night that you liked your ass being played with. God, that is so fucking hot.’ He starts to increase his pace, looking down at where his finger is moving in and out of me. ‘Maybe I’ll fuck your ass sometime. Maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll make you suck my dick before I push you down on my bed and take your ass. Would you like that?’

A sob breaks from my throat at the sheer eroticism of his words. I squirm on the counter, knowing I’m seconds away from losing control.

He studies my face for another moment before looking back down. ‘Maybe another time,’ he muses aloud—and then drops his mouth to my pussy.

He continues to finger fuck me as he circles his tongue. By the time he sucks on my clit, I shatter.

I scream at the force of the orgasm. The heat from my core explodes, expanding through every nerve of my body, every inch of my skin. As Tristan continues his delicious torment—never once slowing down or letting up on his intensity—my release continues to roll through me. I feel like I’m stuck in an undercurrent on the beach, with waves continuing to crash down on me until I can’t breathe anymore and I stop fighting.

When my breathing slows and I can finally blink open my eyes, it registers that Tristan is still gently caressing my pussy, watching my face intently.

‘Fucking beautiful,’ he breathes. Then he steps back and pushes his sweatpants down past his hips. He grabs his dick and squeezes.

Still shaking from the force of my orgasm, I push myself up to a sitting position. My mouth goes dry at the sight of him roughly tugging himself. I try to reach for him, but Tristan pushes my hands away.

‘Nuh uh, not today,’ he growls. ‘If you touch me right now, I won’t make it inside your tight little body. Wrap your legs around me.’

When he tugs my hips closer to the edge, I do as he says. I can’t help the shiver of anticipation that runs through my body as he rubs the tip of his dick along my slick center. Gripping the edge of the counter with both hands, I wiggle to try to take him inside.

He chuckles against my skin as he lays kisses along my neck. ‘So eager,’ he mutters. ‘Luckily, I can’t wait any longer, either.’ And with one long, slow movement, he pushes all the way in.

I whimper and squirm as I adjust to his size. He’s just big enough that there’s a twinge of pain when he first slides in, and it takes a few breaths until I can relax enough to enjoy myself. I probably didn’t notice his sheer size the last time he took me because I was drunk then. But now, in this position, I revel in the feeling of being so utterly and completely full.

‘Fuck, you’re so tight,’ he moans. ‘I already don’t want this to end.’

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and nip his earlobe. ‘Fuck me,’ I whisper in his ear.

He groans and starts to move. He’s still buried in my neck and he’s got a bruising grip on my hips as he starts to thrust into me. And with every motion, I lose more and more of my mind.

‘Oh my god, Tristan,’ I gasp. I grab at his arms, his shoulders, as I try to gain control of what’s building inside me. Even though I just came a few minutes ago, I’m already bordering on another overwhelming orgasm.

He pulls back a little so he can look at my face. When he sees my struggle, sees that I’m close, he growls in approval and kisses me roughly.

‘Come for me,’ he whispers into my mouth. ‘Scream for me.’

And when one of his thrusts hits the right spot inside me, I do. I scream as my orgasm erupts.

He smothers the sound with another hard kiss. He wraps an arm around my waist as his other hand braces himself against the counter. ‘Oh, fuck,’ he groans, increasing his pace. As my pussy starts to clench around his dick, he reaches his release, too.

I pant against his lips as my pulsing continues to drain him. When the sensations finally abate, he leans his forehead against mine, breathing heavily.

After a few moments, Tristan chuckles lightly and kisses the edge of my mouth. He pulls away and flashes me a playful smile. ‘You’ll notice when you look in the mirror that my description of what you look like when you’ve been properly fucked is 100% accurate.’

I scowl but can’t stop the blush that flames my cheeks. ‘Shut up,’ I mutter. I hop off the counter and reach for my clothes.

I pull my thong on but I’m so skittish and confused in my post-orgasm haze that I abandon the idea of pulling on my pants and instead turn to bolt up the stairs.

But before I can make it more than a step, Tristan grabs my arm and spins me back to face him. He grips the back of my neck and pulls my face close to his.

‘I hope this solidified it in your brain that this isn’t stopping anytime soon,’ he growls against my lips.

My eyes go wide but I don’t say anything. ‘I’m serious,’ he growls, nipping my lower lip. ‘Stop running from me.’

‘I—I don’t—” I stammer, wide eyed and still completely clueless about how to answer.

When he realizes he won’t get anything more out of me, he sighs and steps back to give me my space. Without another word, I run up the stairs and back to the safety of my own room.